


Round Two

by the_dangerous_ginger



Series: Misha Smut Drabbles and Ficlets [2]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dom Misha, Dom/sub, Eye Contact, F/M, Fingerfucking, Mirrors, sub Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 20:44:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4451729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_dangerous_ginger/pseuds/the_dangerous_ginger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a truly delightful phone call, there's a knock on your door and a question that still needs to be answered.<br/>Are you ready for Round Two?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Round Two

**Author's Note:**

> Submission for: lnwm.co.vu/ (Late Nights With Misha)
> 
> Enjoy!  
> ~K
> 
> My tumblr: the-dangerous-ginger.tumblr.com/  
> Beta tumblr: rieraclaelin.tumblr.com/  
> Our writing tumblr: the-brain-and-the-machine.tumblr.com/

Words… they were a too far concept for you right now. You knew you needed to say something but they just wouldn’t form.

Who could blame you though?

Misha was standing in front of you, on your doorstep, _in the middle of the night._

You hadn’t seen him in over two months, so when he asked you, eyes sparkling with amusement and darkened with arousal, “Ready for round two?”, in a voice so filthy and sinister and wickedly hot, you had to act instead of speak.

You hauled him, by a fistful of shirt, across the threshold, and kicked the door shut behind him. Tightening your grip on it, you slammed your mouth to his, and let the past two months of loneliness wash away at the taste of his lips on yours.

He chuckled darkly against your lips and tangled a hand into your hair, seizing the strands with just enough aggression to make you hand the reins over to him.

From then on, you fell.

You fell into his taste, smell, touch, and overall presence.

It was liberating.

Even when he pressed you against the wall, a hand still in your hair tilting your head up, while the other cupped your jaw, you didn’t feel trapped or smothered or uncomfortable.

You felt at peace, at home, and oh so incredibly turned on.

A wanton moan slipped from you when he pressed a muscular thigh to your panty clad core, grinding you against it. The friction between the rough denim and the simple cotton of your panties was exquisite and had you throwing your head back against the wall.

He sampled every bit of you he could reach as he ground against you. With long sweeps of tongue and sharp nips of teeth, he left no skin, from your lips to the edges of your collarbone peeking out from your nightshirt, untouched.

You gasped, trembled, and mewled into his shoulder and chest when his lips latched onto a soft spot on your neck, and you could feel the heavy hammering of his heartbeat against your cheek.

“Mi…Mish… bed…” You managed to gasp.

Your stuttered words needed no preamble, no explanation, he knew what you wanted and he was going to deliver it.

Before you knew it, he was picking you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, and carrying you towards your bedroom.

He lowered you, gently, down onto the mattress you’d been sleeping in not so long ago.

Whatever he had originally in mind would have to wait, because something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye.

Turning from you for a brief moment, he studied the wooden vanity behind him intently, or more specifically, the mirror that was attached to it. It was large, three paneled and in very good condition, leaving a perfect reflection to stare back.

You sat up slowly and watched as the gears turned in his head, parts of a plan coming together before your very eyes.

Your gazes locked for a fraction of a second, Misha staring at your wild mane of hair, swollen and spit slick lips, and you staring at wild blue eyes and a very noticeable strain in his jeans.

You knew exactly what he was about to do.

When he turned back to you, the smirk he wore was enough to fry any remaining brain cells you had left.

With his right eyebrow arched high, as if in a display of dominance, he asked you in a smoldering voice, “(Y/N), can you be a good girl for me?”

The sentence seemed to melt your insides even further before, leaving you a whimpering, nodding mess.

“Yes, what, (Y/N)?” He asked solemnly, face slipping into an unreadable mask… all except for his eyes.

“Yes… _Sir._ ” You answered back, excitement causing your voice to quaver just a little, and you watched as blue eyes darkened impossibly further.

Misha circled to your left and sat down beside you, eyes now trained on the reflection of you, and brushed a few strands of hair away from your neck.

Meeting your gaze and leaning in close enough for his warm breath to graze your ear, he whispered filthily, “(Y/N), be a good girl… and _watch_. Don’t look away, either.”

You blinked once, twice, and a third time before you swallowed hard and uttered a quiet, “Yes, Sir.”

Focusing on the mirror in front of you was like watching the hottest porn you’d ever seen and being relentlessly tortured at the same time.

On one hand, you could see everything he was doing to you, including the hands trekking up your sides and lifting your nightshirt over your head. On the other, you wanted, desperately, to turn away from the hot sight and focus on him, solely, instead.

When you tried, though, Misha merely quietly admonished you and turned your head back to the mirror.

Deciding that it would be best to play nice and follow the rules, you watched as he scooted around behind you and pulled you back in between his strong legs. You could feel his cock strain against your back and you wanted nothing more to release it and bring him to the same level of debauchedness as you, but he still wouldn’t let you.

At this point, you were a disheveled mess, dressed in soaked panties only. Your nipples pebbled under the weight of his gaze and the cool conditioned air, and you bit your lip to keep from letting out an indecently loud moan when his left hand snaked up to your breast and his right tugged your underwear completely off. While he divested himself of his t-shirt, you took the opportunity to close your legs and shy away from the mirror.

When he caught sight of it, he whispered soft praises in your ear and gently parted your legs again, hooking your ankles around his and drawing your legs obscenely wide and exposing your glistening core to the mirror.

Your breath hitched in your throat when he began speaking to your reflection.

“So gorgeous, (Y/N). You look so depraved and hot like this, all spread wide and beautiful for me.” He paused to run two fingers lightly through the slickness between your legs and bring them up to your face. They gleamed in the moonlight streaming through the window and you obeyed when he said, “Open.”, quietly to you.

He guided those two fingers into your mouth slowly, making you savor every drop of your own sweetness. The tang of arousal mixed with the slight salt taste of Misha’s fingers was incredibly heady and addictive. Soon both fingers were clean and he was turning your jaw so he could kiss you.

It was messy and sloppy, but so damn good at the same time.

He broke away from you again and nodded to the mirror, a silent command to watch, again.

Burying his face in your neck again, he began his torment.

In a smooth motion, his right hand skated the soft skin of your breasts and stomach, before sliding the rest of the way down, rolling a finger over your clit delicately, causing your head to drop back on his shoulder, but you didn’t dare take your eyes off that mirror. His left pinched and pulled at your nipples, causing you to squirm.

Just like he said he would.

You gasped, panted, and bucked against his fingers as he added and took them away periodically, seeking more friction. Your movement was limited though, because he had both of your legs pinned down with his and your hands were in his hair, tugging and pulling accordingly.

Soon, another orgasm was boiling low in your stomach, and you bucked a little more wildly against his fingers.

“Mish… please…” You pleaded with him, eyes boring into his.

“Are you going to come again for me, (Y/N)? Come all over this hand?” He paused and licked his lips, and dove his hand in a little deeper and a little harder, bringing you that much closer to the edge.

_“Ask nicely.”_ He hissed lewdly in your ear, watching you raptly.

Steeling yourself, you inhaled sharply and met him with a determined, level gaze, “Sir, may I _please_ come?”

He gave you a brilliantly lustful smile and simultaneously tightened his grip on your nipple and gave a particularly hard rub against your clit, and breathed, “Come.”

Like an explosion, tsunami, tornado, and volcanic eruption all rolled into one, you came.

And came.

And came.

It could have been minutes, hours, days, weeks, years, and you would have never known the difference. There at that very moment, through the massive blur of pleasure tinged with just a hint of pain, with your eyes on Misha’s proud blue ones, you could tell what he meant by, “ _Your gorgeous face, and how it twists into the most beautiful expression when you’re in the throes of ecstasy.”_

Color bloomed high in your cheeks, tinging them a shade of bright pink, your mouth hung open just slightly in a silent scream, and your (Y/E/C) eyes glazed over, leaving you the picture of ecstasy personified.

When you finally calmed down and sagged against Misha, you rolled your head up to kiss him lazily and pushed your ass back against where he was still hard and leaking.

“So _, Sir…_ ,” you began with a tired but wicked grin, “is it going to be slow and gentle, or hard and fast?”

**Author's Note:**

> Like it? Let me know!  
> If you aren't going to already, you should definitely check out Late Nights With Misha!
> 
> Be sure to check out our writing blog for updates, exclusive sneak peeks on our other works such as The Life We Live and Of Winds and Moons, and other cool surprises!  
> Writing blog: the-brain-and-the-machine.tumblr.com/
> 
> ~K


End file.
